


It's 2019 Stop Burying Your Gays

by PoorUnfortunateSoul



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Five Stages of Grief, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, canon suicide mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 03:58:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18513448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoorUnfortunateSoul/pseuds/PoorUnfortunateSoul
Summary: Eliot has never been someone to just give up. He’ll moan and complain and drag Margo into it with him, but they usually get shit done, even if it means half-assing it.____________Or, Eliot always gets what he wants, and what he wants, is Quentin back.





	It's 2019 Stop Burying Your Gays

Eliot has never been someone to just give up. He’ll moan and complain and drag Margo into it with him, but they usually get shit done, even if it means half-assing it. He’s never been in a position where he hasn’t been able to do something he’s set his mind to, whether it was harmful or helpful. 

It’s a weird feeling, to be in a place of grief and feel so incomplete, and have that incomplete feeling be out of place. That’s how it’s supposed to feel when someone you love dies, isn’t it? If your life is a puzzle piece, then the people you feel closest to are some of the pieces, and now a piece is just…  _ gone. _

It doesn’t feel right, though. There was so much he was supposed to say, so much he was going to. He was finally going to be  _ vulnerable. _ If this was the universe's way of telling him to never do that then message  _ fucking received.  _

Eliot whacks himself in the face with the book he’s been looking at. Margo looks up from her own with mild concern, but she doesn’t say anything. 

If Eliot lets himself fall down the self-deprecating spiral, he’ll never dig himself out. Usually it’s a path that he lets himself fall down until Margo drags him back out of it, but this is different. To focus so much on himself right now would be selfish. 

And that’s part of the problem, isn’t it? First, he made himself the center of his friends world by making them worry about him. Then, he hurt both Margo and Quentin by putting Fillory and his rule above them. He’d promised Margo that they’d fix everything, but that conversation was a hotfix for a deeper problem that neither of them know how to work on. 

He’d made Quentin feel like an option, instead of a priority. He put so many things ahead of him, because he thought there’d be time to prove otherwise. Quentin, despite having shortcomings that Alice loved to poke and prod at, was always incredibly understanding of Eliot and how he slowly got his shit together to truly care about another person. He thought Quentin would  _ wait. _

He didn’t. He didn’t when he’d kissed Alice. He didn’t when he left her behind to be the grieving widow, while Eliot has to draw as little attention to himself as possible because her right to hurt was stronger than his. 

Eliot doesn’t blame him. No one should have to wait for someone else to love them, but  _ fuck _ . He really thought he would. 

Eliot should’ve tried harder, should’ve done more. They’ve found so many ways to escape death before, surely they could’ve found another way. Quentin didn’t have to die, and especially not like this. 

It’s his own fault this happened. He should’ve known that Quentin wasn’t completely all right. Quentin always tried to fix everything and everyone, even if it wasn’t asked of him. Of  _ course _ he’d die for a greater good, because Eliot and Quentin’s own damn brain made him feel like anything was a greater good over his existence. 

Eliot bites his knuckle, trying to hide his sob, but Margo still hears it. She’s on him in an instant, and he crumbles when she squeezes him hard. 

“It’s my fault,” he heaves, and Margo’s arms tighten around him. 

“It isn’t,” she says, voice leaving no room for arguing. “And you aren’t helping anyone by thinking like that.” 

Margo leans down and rests her forehead against Elliot’s. He nearly goes cross-eyed trying to meet her gaze. 

“Now, Elliot, you’re going pull your shit together, and we’re going to fix you. Do you understand me?”

Eliot nods, and Margo pulls away. 

“Thanks, Bambi,” he says, and she squeezes his shoulder. 

“Of course.”

They both get back to looking, and Eliot pretends not to notice her swallowing back her own tears. He doesn’t say anything when she walks into the stacks of books and doesn’t come out for a half an hour, either, because he knows that just as much as he needed her hug, she needs to be alone and process.

If he’s going to drag her into this, he at least needs to give her the right to grieve. 

________==========++++++++________==========++++++++________==========++++++++

Eliot Waugh doesn’t give up. At least, that’s what he tells himself. It’s becoming a more appealing option by the day. 

He keeps cycling through days of feeling everything, too much and too hard, and days of feeling nothing at all. One day, he shoved all the books that he and Margo have gone through off of the table, after coming across a time travel spell that someone had crossed out. 

There were warnings about altering timelines all over the page, so clearly someone fucked something up. He’s sure there’s some sort of creature that chases you down when you change something, because that’s just how magic  _ is, _ but Quentin would be worth facing any beast. 

How  _ dare  _ someone have the audacity to suggest otherwise. It’s stupid, and irrational because the warnings have nothing to do with Quentin, were probably written before any of them were even born, but he’s suddenly so angry and has to do  _ something _ . 

So, the books are on the floor, and it takes less than a second for Eliot to join them. Margo sits down beside him, and rests a hand on his shoulder. 

“How  _ dare _ he,” Eliot screams to the empty library. “How could he leave us behind like this? Who gave him the right?” 

Margo says nothing, just stays with him while he reaches a breaking point. It means more to him than he could ever put into words. 

________==========++++++++________==========++++++++________==========++++++++

“I’d give anything for him to come back,” Eliot says. 

Margo looks up from her book. 

“I know,” she says.

Eliot shrugs.    
“Felt like I needed to say it. So someone would know, I guess.”

Margo reaches out and squeezes his hand. 

“Tell me as many times as you need to,” she says, and Eliot cracks a small smile.

________==========++++++++________==========++++++++________==========++++++++

“I never got to tell him,” Eliot says, and Margo picks her head off of the library table. 

She has bags under her eyes, and the colors drained from her face. She looks like a mess, and Eliot is sure he doesn’t look much better. 

“I think he knew, El,” Margo says, “because he knew you.”

“Probably too well,” Eliot agrees. “Still. It doesn’t seem like enough.”

Margo blows a raspberry, thinking hard about what to answer with. Eliot rests his chin in his palm, and waits. 

"I think that’s just how it is,” Margo says. “When someone dies. You start going through the could’ve, would’ve, should’ve, instead of thinking about the good you did do. It probably won’t ever feel like enough, but you did help him, Eliot.” 

“It just really be like that sometimes,” Eliot says, because he has to joke or he’ll cry again, and he doesn’t think his tear ducts can handle that again.

Margo snorts, and Eliot can’t describe the relief he feels. He can’t remember the last time he’s amused her. 

________==========++++++++________==========++++++++________==========++++++++

Margo shrieks from the other side of the library, and Eliot nearly jumps out of his skin. She comes running at him full speed, bumping into things seemingly unphased. 

“Jesus, Bambi,” Eliot says, as she slams her hands on the table. “Give me a heart attack, why don’t you.” 

“I found something,” she says, eyes wild.

Eliot is up in an instant, and she vibrates with excited energy. 

“What are you waiting for? Lead the way.”

________==========++++++++________==========++++++++________==========++++++++

“Quentin Coldwater!” Margo shrieks, a few strides ahead of Eliot.  

Quentin freezes at the sound of Margo’s wrath, and Eliot almost feels bad about the fear that flashes across his face as she grabs the back of his shirt and yanks him into the closest room. Eliot follows quickly behind, and Margo slams the door behind them. 

“Uh…” Quentin says, and Margo cuts him off by raising her hand. 

“No, shut up. We talk, you listen, got it?” she says, and Quentin has enough sense to just nod. “Sacrificing yourself isn’t the answer. We’ll find another way, because we always find another way. Do you understand me?”

Quentin looks to Eliot for clarification, but he says nothing.    
“No?” he says, and Margo sighs.    
“You will,” Eliot says, “and when the time comes, we need you to promise us that you’ll remember that.”

“Okay,” Quentin says, still visibly confused. 

Margo nods her approval, and slips from the room. Quentin opens his mouth like he might say something, but he’s cut off by Eliot catching him in a bone crushing hug. He knows he’s confusing him further, probably scaring him at this point, but can’t bring himself to stop. Eliot hasn’t been able to hold Quentin in months. 

Quentin allows him to hold on for a few minutes, and he only detaches himself once Margo gives a warning knock. They’re here on borrowed time. 

Reluctantly, Eliot pulls back, but he squishes Quentin’s face between his hands, and says, in a rush, “I love you, Quentin, more than anything. And I know it’s not fair of me to ask, but we both know how emotionally stunted I am, so please, wait for me. I promise you I will make sure it’s worth it, and I will love endlessly and unconditionally just like you deserve, so please, just, don’t kiss Alice.”

“Alice? What?” Quentin asks, but Eliot doesn’t respond. 

He slips from the room like Margo did, and chases her down the hallway.    
“Cutting it real fucking close, El,” she scolds, and Eliot just shrugs. 

They both know his ‘sorry’ would be a lie.

________==========++++++++________==========++++++++________==========++++++++

They return to their own time, and Eliot doesn’t remember feeling this drained before in his life. The time travel spell Margo found was complicated, and it took them weeks to perfect it. It took a lot of magic, probably more than they have if desperation hadn’t have played such a big part.

They stumble out of the library, exhausted, and come face to face with Quentin. They both freeze, somehow unprepared for the consequences of their actions.

“Thought you were going to be in the library forever,” Quentin teases, before kissing Eliot sweetly.

He does it without hesitation, and with ease, like it’s something they do all the time. 

“You waited for me,” Eliot says with awe, and Quentin raises an eyebrow.    
“That sounded a little too sincere, El. I was just kidding, you guys were only gone for two - Oh,” he says, cut off by Eliot grabbing him into another hug. 

He hears Margo hiss something about cutting Quentin’s dick off if he lets go, and Eliot knows in the back of his mind that he should feel embarrassed, but he can’t bring himself to. 

“Thank God,” he breathes, “I love you, Quentin.”

“I love you too?” he says, and then Margo wraps them both up in her arms.

Eliot feels her press her face into his neck, and her relieved tears slip down his own neck. They both know that they have a lot of explaining to do, a lot to catch Quentin up on, but for now, they just want to hold him.

 

 

“You didn’t come this far to just get this far

You didn’t shoot for the moon just to hit the stars

You didn’t work this hard just to fade to black

It cuts me in half to see you hold back

And you’ll know when you’re lost ‘cause I won’t let you sleep through the night

I won’t let you sleep through the night

I promise you I’ll be here screaming at you baby, fight baby, fight baby,

_ Fight. _ ”

\- Icon for Hire, Demons 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna be honest, I barely go here. I watched the first three seasons, but I'm a binger, so I was waiting for season 4 to come to Netflix, but as a bisexual woman that's fought severe social anxiety and moderate depression for her whole twenty-one years of life, I was pretty fucking livid. 
> 
> It's bad enough to bury your gays, but my sister read an interview where they were trying to pass Quentin's suicide off as 'heroic' and that he "would do more good dead than alive" and as someone who's working towards a degree that will let me work in the mental health field, let me just say, if any of you plan on telling stories in the future, wether it's through writing, or movies or TV or whatever media forms may come about, PLEASE think about what message you are sending to your audience. 
> 
> Please do not send the message to people who suffer from depression that they would be doing better for the people around them to be dead than to continue to fight. 
> 
> To anyone who may have been effected by the message, I promise you, you matter and you will do better for everyone by sticking around. People care about you, deeply and completely and they want you around. I myself am working towards a degree that will let me help people like you as my sole purpose in life. People care and you matter. 
> 
> To any LGBT youth, I can promise you, things will get better. I know you've heard it a thousand times, and they seem like hollow words because, Hell, I thought the same thing as short as three years ago, but I'm really fucking glad that I stuck around to see what my and my friend's lives have become, and you will to. 
> 
> If anyone needs someone to talk to, you can find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/loving-glimmer) or [twitter.](https://twitter.com/LittleLoser987) I can't promise to always know what to say, but I can promise to listen.


End file.
